Burning Embers
by parsnip
Summary: Series of Royai oneshots. [The Little Things] At the start of the day, Riza prepares for work, donning the uniform that has defined who she was since she first donned its heavy weight. Rizacentric.
1. Unspoken Goodbyes

**Title:** Unspoken Goodbyes  
**Fandom:** Full Metal Alchemist  
**Pairing:** Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye  
**7snogs Theme:** #4 - Sunset  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for Manga Chapter 56 with implied adult themes  
**Disclaimer:** Full Metal Alchemist and all it's characters do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for my own amusement.  
**Summary:** One final night was all they had. One night they could spend in realitive peace and safety. One night to say their unspoken goodbyes.

**Unspoken Goodbyes **

Her lips were warm against his, making his mind tumble with confusion and wonder, mystified at the strangeness of her skin brushing his. He had walked her home with the intent of saying an unspoken goodbye. That her apartment was on his way made it all the easier to prolong the last time he would be able to see her safely, without the fear of what King Bradley would do to her pulling against his soul.

Hawkeye would be the Fuhrer's willing hostage starting in the morning; her dedication sequestered through the very rank she had achieved solely to aid his own ambition. Her loyalty would no longer be _his _ to command. Not anymore, at least.

Hands pulled him into the dark apartment, feet tripping over a mass of yapping fur before righting themselves with satisfaction, the brass buttons that held the lapels of his uniform closed falling to the floor in a tumble.

_'It wasn't supposed to happen like this,' _ Roy thought as he surfaced for air before finding his lips captured once again by a desperate softness. He was supposed to wave farewell to his men before they scattered to the four corners of the country. He was supposed to cut the ties that bound them together in order to preserve their well being while he struggled on alone. He wasn't supposed to strengthen that tie with any of his subordinates, even if it was with the one who had been with him the longest. It shouldn't matter that the woman kissing him senseless was the only one who had sworn to protect his life with her own and stay by his side through everything.

Hungrily, he pushed his hands underneath her jacket, fingertips grazing across the rough cotton of her blouse as they traveled upward to brush against one tender peak. His seeking was rewarded with a muffled cry as Riza's back arched, tearing their lips apart with the sudden movement. He smiled, head reeling with the delicious power he felt as the woman before him reacted to his touch.

He'd never had a woman react so completely to him before, and he marveled that first lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, the one he could always count on to stay level headed and calm, would prove to be the most sensitive to every caress, every brush of his tongue against her lips. He was intoxicated with the elixir of her taste as he pulled her flush against him to taste those enrapturing lips with his own once more, trapping his kneading hand between their bodies.

It was the moaning of his name that brought him to his senses. It wasn't Colonel Mustang or any derivation of that, but rather the sensual whisper of his first name, 'Roy' that doused his ardor and reminded him that this wasn't how his first lieutenant was supposed to act.

She was supposed to reject every advance, taking it as a joke but appreciating the underlying message beneath it. She was supposed to walk away when he plied her lips with his own in a drunken stupor, hidden in an alleyway or on a stake-out. She wasn't supposed to initiate kisses or run her hands down his chest, working the ties of his trousers loose, and making him moan in anticipation of those eager hands rubbing against him down there.

"Hawkeye," he groaned, stilling her hands with his own, fighting for control as his brain worked feverishly to understand what was going on, to put it in context with the events of the day and the realization that he had been duped from the very beginning. Thoughts of a homunculus and the utter corruptness of the upper military ranks nearly forced every last vestige of desire from his body.

But then she spoke, and he was lost in a cloud of overwhelming sensuality.

"Riza," she murmured, tugging her fingers away as she shrugged out of her jacket that had mysteriously become unbuttoned, revealing the translucent cotton shirt beneath, already moist with the heat of her ardor.

"Riza" he whispered back as his eyes followed the downward sweep of her jacket as it fell to the floor. Dragging his gaze upwards, he found himself staring into her brown eyes. The guarded fear shining back at him nearly floored him. Cupping her jaw in his hands, he couldn't help but give her one more kiss. It was gentle and sweet, and filled with all the reassurances he wanted to give to the bravest person he had ever known, outside of perhaps Ed and Al.

"We shouldn't do this," he said softly, breath mingling with hers as he rested his forehead against her own while his lungs labored to relieve the beating of his heart.

"I know, but I want to," she sighed, running a hand through the coarse strands of his hair. "Tomorrow, I'll be the personal assistant to King Bradley, but right now, I have no superior officer. I am merely Riza Hawkeye, and you are only Roy Mustang." She lifted her eyes to his, foreheads still touching. Sincerity blazed in them as well as the banked flames of her desire.

"Just for tonight," she whispered again, fingers tugging on the captured strands of hair as she brought her lips closer to his. "Just for one night, I don't want you to worry about me or the others."

She brushed her lips against his, tongue tracing the tender flesh of his lower lip.

"Tonight, I don't want to worry about all the trouble you'll get yourself into while I'm stuck playing assistant to King Bradley. I want to know that you'll be safe tonight, Roy."

With a groan, he threaded his fingers into Riza's blond hair, tugging away the barrette that kept the tresses pinned neatly to her scalp. Taking control, he walked her backwards to her bed in the corner, helping her to remove his shirt while ravaging her lips, caressing her skin beneath the blouse now only tucked in along one side. Knees hitting the edge, they fell in a tangle to the covers, lost in each other and unwilling to give up their last sunset as an unstoppable team.

In the morning, there would be no regrets. Only a lasting nostalgia for a single night spent exploring, etching the feel of skin and hands and lips and sensation into their memories. It would be one night only to last them through the trials ahead, forced apart by the enemy. A single, beautiful sunset would have to last them until they at last could watch the sun rise on a military without King Bradley and his willing minions.


	2. Dalliance

**Title:** Dalliance  
**Fandom:** Full Metal Alchemist  
**Pairing:** Roy Mustang/Riza Hawkeye  
**7snogs ****Theme:** #2 – Jealousy  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** Adult Themes  
**Disclaimer:** Full Metal Alchemist does not belong to me. I'm only borrowing the plot/characters for amusement's sake.  
**Summary:** Dalliance, a frivolous action, an amorous play. Roy Mustang at his best dallying with the women while Riza watches, protecting him like always. He is considered frivolous, but only when he is taken at face value. The amourous play that follows leaves Riza burning on the inside.

**Dalliance**

Sighting through her scope, Riza wondered if a military discharge would be worth placing a bullet right between the eyes of the civilian standing next to Colonel Mustang. Adjusting her crossfire, she weighed the merit of taking out a kneecap or injuring a shoulder. Either one would get the girl sent to the hospital, separating Mustang from his flavor of the night and appeasing her heart.

_Lips touched hers in a gentle caress, renewing the memory of heated flesh and the taste of burgundy wine. He tasted just as he smelled: rich and vibrant with an acrid edge tempering the intoxicating flavor. It was the sullen taste of ash that she craved; it reminded her of all they'd been through, all they've fought to overcome. _

Pushing away the thoughts plaguing her mind, she turned her attention to scanning the crowd, looking for the spies that surely followed after the colonel no matter where he went. No where was safe. No one was innocent. She had to remain calm and collected; Mustang expected her to retain her professionalism as he acted the bait, laid the foundations for their subterfuge. Her eye ticked uncontrollably as he leaned closer to the giggling woman hanging off his arm, all the better to look down her dress, no doubt.

_Her hands tugged at his shirt, pulling it lose to run her fingertips along his softly delineated abs, testament to too many fancy dinners and days spent at the office while he neglected his exercises. Heat scorched her palm as he pressed against her hands, pinning her to the door as his tongue reached inside her mouth, tasting the residual jealousy that flooded her being with bitterness._

Closing her eyes briefly to block the rage-inducing image of leering colonel and insipid female, she fought to still the surge of homicidal tendencies rising within her. It would be so easy to take out Roy Mustang. Her finger twitched, inching towards the trigger. She was always watching his back, protecting him from anything and everything. Didn't she deserve something for her loyalty?

_Her moans were swallowed as he swept his tongue inside, cleansing Riza of evil intentions and misguided ideas. She in turn clutched at his clothing, rubbing her foot against his leg as she marveled at the complexity of his kiss. _

_The deepest layer was pure, untouched, the inner spark of **him**. Then a white layer of flaking skin smothered it in the aftermath of Ishval, coating it in the desperate desire to forget even as the images were burned into memory, every kill remembered, every notch of victory a bitter blow. From out of the wastelands was the burning desire to succeed, to change the past by preventing the future's mistakes, rewinding and editing with Mustang in power and a prevention of senseless killing._

_Gasping for breath, she swallowed air, fanning the embers of ambition._

Dismantling her weapon, she let her mind wander, knowing that others were inside the restaurant, watching Roy and his flippant flirtations. How they came upon the idea of letting Roy act flamboyant and immature always eluded her. She could remember sitting around a portable brazier, huddling for warmth as she waited for the cold desert night to pass. Hughes and Mustang were passing a jug of poorly fermented wine back and forth, shuddering at the taste, but drinking it none the less.

In their drunken stupor, the two boys, barely men, decided misdirection was key to achieving their greatest ambition, Roy's vision of mini-skirts and peace. Stupidity would be the greatest way to dissuade the casual eye from looking to closely as he bided his time, rising through the ranks. A playboy became the perfect alibi. So many women, so little time to backstab the fuhrer; at least, that's what they wanted King Bradley to think.

_Hands, his hands were creeping lower, slipping past the waistband of her skirt to run a finger along the ridge of her pelvis, sending electric signals firing along her nerves. Gasping, clutching at the lanky strands of hair, she pulled his head away from his resting place on her breast. Smiling, he stared into her face as his hand slipped lower, grazing skin beneath cloth to grasp at her own hair, pulling the strands in retaliation as his breath grazed one aching nipple. Moaning, she sagged against the wall, spreading her legs wider as he latched unto her skin, his fingers slipping into **her**._

Tucking her hair behind one ear, she looked around the fastidiously clean room. No one would suspect she had broken into the house. No one would find anything misplaced. Satisfied, she tucked her briefcase closer to her side, her posture relaxed as she strode from the room and out the backdoor, nothing betraying the heavy weight resting at her side, hidden beneath her skirt. She was no longer needed for the night. Havoc would see Roy returned safe at home, the girl suitably infatuated. No one would ever suspect that when 'Kate' called later that it would really be Fuery.

It was just one more alias set up in Central even if it did kill her on the inside every time he dallied with another.

_Her groans echoed in the air as strong arms picked up her satiated body, her clothes barely hanging onto her limbs. Nuzzling her cheek, he quickly made his way to her bedroom, gloating with pride at the state he had taken her to against the door. Catching her lips in another searing kiss, they sank into the mattress, Roy ready and willing to remind her that she was the only woman for him, the only one who knew the real him._

Stretching, she blinked away the grit from her eyes, sleep a difficult thing to shake off as she sat up on the couch. She had fallen asleep watching the sunset through the window with a contented Black Hayate in her lap. The knocking sounded again through her house, forcing her to gently remove Hayate's limp body to the side before striding to her door, gun resting lightly against one hand while the other smoothed her wrinkled skirt. Standing off to the side, she opened it wide, glancing at her midnight intruder.

"Roy?" she whispered, her grip on her gun relaxing, leaving it tucked securely in its hiding place.

"Riza," he whispered, breath fanning across her face as he leaned heavily against the doorframe. Stepping into the room, catching Riza's body in an embrace, he gently caressed her lips with his own. As the shock wore off, she could taste the residual wine on his breath from dinner; she could feel the warmth of his body as he tugged her body closer to his. Although the kiss ended swiftly, Riza was in heaven, lost in memory.

It had been to long since they'd been able to kiss in secret. Opportunity had been thin since Ishaval ended, their nights spent huddled against each other for warmth long since gone.

"Why," she whispered against his lips.

"Kate lives down the street from you," he grinned, nudging the door closed behind him before sealing her lips with his own again.


	3. The Little Things

**Title:** The Little Things  
**7snogs**** Theme:** #1 – Uniform  
**Genre:** general  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** Manga Spoilers for latest chapters up to 62  
**Disclaimer:** FMA does not belong to me; I merely borrowed the characters and settings for idle entertainment.  
**Summary:** At the start of the day, Riza prepares for work, donning the uniform that has defined who she was since she first held its heavy weight.

**The Little Things**

Her day started with a shower as all good days must begin. If she was denied the chance to bask in the shedding of her nightmares from her mind and the sheen of sweat from her skin, it meant that something unscheduled was happening, that either she hadn't had a chance to rest from executing a sordid mission or that she had been pulled from her bed in the middle of the night by some catastrophe or another. Usually it was to rush to the side of a superior overcome with the quilt that quickly settled in with the loss of yet another friend, another death he had been unable to prevent. She hated that feeling of wrongness that came from a routine disrupted. It was one less thing she had control over in her tiny world which happened to often for comfort.

Still, she enjoyed the prick of water as it bit into her flesh, forced out of the pipes at a pressure most would find uncomfortable. It made her feel as though more then dirt was being washed away in the simple delights of routine cleansing.

Stepping out of her shower, Riza gazed at herself in the mirror, analyzing the lines that were slowly showing up on her face and the darkness in her eyes. At one point in her life she had been an innocent child, content with taking care of her father whom she seldom saw outside of his library and the research he so diligently pursued. She had loved her father, and he had loved her, trusted her with the material things most important to him.

There was a time when her brief conversations with Roy had been a sweet deviation from work, a routine that was comfortable in its surface geniality. It wasn't until her father died that she had grown to know who the man was that lived in her home, that had humbled himself to learn from her dad. And then he disappeared when he gained what he sought, idealism bright in his eyes and a confused lost girl watching him stride out of her reach leaving only the memory of stolen kisses to help her through the long days of loneliness.

She had not expected to see him again that day in the desert.

Brushing her thoughts aside, she quickly dried her skin of the clinging droplets, walking into the room with swift, efficient movements. On her bed was her uniform, the symbol of who she was, and each item was a representation of all her hardships and hopes. First to don was her undergarments, flimsy excuses of material that barely hid the vulnerability of her heart and the frailty of her skin.

Life was too short to worry about death, and hers was an illusion of that basic human right. She did not deserve to live when so many had died at her hands. She was waiting for the day when she would be stripped of her clothing, forced to answer the crimes she had committed with open eyes. She would be glad to see her blood drip to the floor and her vision grown weak with darkness. On that day, she would die content knowing she had helped change the world, that she had set the stage for a better age to dawn.

But until then, she was studious in girding her armor, in schooling her features to coldness so that those closest to her would not waver, that no one would know the inner demons that plagued her in memory.

She pulled on her shirt next, fastening the stays that would pull the fabric taught across her skin, removing the wrinkled blemishes from its surface. It was her eye for detail which made her an asset to Colonel Mustang's division. She was entrusted with guarding the righteous path, her gun poised to take his life should he deviate from the set goal of Fuhrer and an end to the military's iron rule.

It also covered the rapid flutter of her heart from Roy's wandering gaze. It would not do to have him wonder if she had it within her to pull that trigger. She plagued herself far to frequently with those concerns. How did one shoot the man who had been with her in every stage of her life? He was the only one left living who knew her fathers secrets inside and out and the person she had once been, the person she had grown to become.

She dwelled too often on those questions.

And so she pulled up her trousers, one leg at a time as she had been taught. With that addition to her outfit, she was prepared to go anywhere that her colonel required, a woman in a man's world. It was with the donning of a pair of slacks that she had decided to leave her dreary, lifeless home and see the world all those years ago when she was still naïve and innocent. She had locked her past in its dusty halls and never looked back in idleness. Only when she was talking to Roy would she remember, and that was a rare time indeed. She no longer had room in her soul for childish dreams though the hopes failed to wither with time.

Sitting on the bed, she reached for the twin boots sitting at attention on her floor, black and stern with the leather polish she rubbed into its skin before sleeping every night. A good pair of boots could be the turning point of life and death when on the run, when pursued by enemies.

She was surrounded by enemies.

Placidly sticking her right foot into its home, and then repeating with her left, she flexed her toes, taking satisfaction in the perfect fit. She had never imagined her feet would carry her to the military academy's bastions when she left her childhood home. She no longer knew what motivated her into seeking asylum in its halls. Perhaps it was a curiosity that drove her, a mild obsession with why Roy had needed to leave her, had worked so hard to uncover the secrets of her father's alchemy. Maybe it was the desire to travel and the promise the recruiting officer had plied in her ears. And maybe it was the uncaring thought that no one would miss her if she died on the war front, a gamble she played with her life.

Roy had been her salvation when she spied him through her sniper's scope. She had almost lost him too.

Patting Hayate on the head in farewell, Riza snagged the final piece of clothing from the back of her chair. Shrugging into her jacket, she donned the last piece of her armor. With the gold braids and insignia embroidered on its blue starched cloth, she became an officer of Amestria. With it, she had the authority to go almost anywhere, to do what needed to be done. It contained her, molded her, made her who she was. She was Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye, aide to the Fuhrer and loyal to Colonel Mustang. The gun holster sewed into its lining was the tool she wielded, less visible then the pen and iron voice she used to drive her subordinates into productivity.

One day, she would be stripped of the bars lining her shoulder. One day she would no longer have the illusion of control. One day she would answer to her crimes and through it all was the never changing presence of her childhood crush, the man she had slowly grown to admire and love through long years working at his side. The day she was forced to kill him, she knew she would die inside, lost once more in a world that would not understand her.

Walking through her door, she took satisfaction in the little details, knowing she was as prepared as she could be to face the road ahead, the task at hand. For now, she was simply an officer of the Amestrian Military, ready to do her duty as best she could until it was time to bring the Fuhrer down.


End file.
